The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-03-26

courage on others illustrated 1T now her.
self. She suffered keenly, but made no
complaint, bearing all patiently, and
struggling earnestly for loves sake to get
well. But it was not SO willed. Through
the long months all that love could do
was done for her. Her husband, himself
an experienced physician, and another
skilled in his profession, did all in their
many and kind that volunteered their
sympathy and help. Children and grand
children were there to anticipate her
slightest wish and minister by day and
night. How gladly would they have
given of their lives to prolong hers. But
medicine, nursing, sympathy availed not
now.
It was during the first days of April
last, the final summons came. She had
grown rapidly worse and kilograms were
sent to the absent sons calling them to
the old home. One was by the seaside,
two in the Western mountains. All start
ed, but the life they loved had passed from
earth ere they met the rest of the family
in sad reunion. Her last hours were
peaceful and quiet. She suffered less,
but the fatal ailment was in her throat,
hence it was hard for her to speak. Her
last words were for her children-a bless
ed benediction for them rich legacy
Of love they will never forget. Afterward
she rested as if waiting. Throughout
the last night the loving watchers by her
bedside sat with bated breath, conscious
of the icy presence near at hand. When
the new day dawned she smiled a greet
ing for them as they came to bid good
morning. But it was plain the sands
had nearly all run down. The husband
was there and the children = all but the
three absent sons. She stretched out her
hands to be lifted up, and her youngest
son gently raised and held her in his
arms. A daughter in front supported her
head, as it was weak and prone to droop.
speak. A few moments she rested quiet
ly, breathing softly, her eyelids closed as
in sleep. All at once they opened; her eyes
lighted up as with divine illumination;
she gazed upward, sweet smile of rec
ognition playing on her face; smile of
mingled love and joy and faith trium-
plant, that artist could not paint and
only Christians understand. "What is ii,
mother? Whom do you see?" asked a
daughter, in the earnest hope she could
yet speak and tell. But no answer came
to the loved ones around her bed. With
the smile of greeting to somebody, she
passed away. Was it one or both of the
daughters, the loved brother, the revered
father, the angel mother, or all of these?
Or was it the dear Saviour whom all her
life she had loved and trusted? We do
not know; but we will some time, when
for us, as for her, faith shall become fact
and time melt into eternity. And bitter
as our sorrow, our faith in Immortality is
strengthened by that dying smile.
She rests now in Forest Home, in the
silent city of the dead-all that was NOR
tai of this faithful wife and mother
The elm and evergreen stand sentinels
about her final resting place, and Code
winds and rains make melancholy music
there. We can not call her back we
who SO loved her; it seemed our very sun
light was taken from the world, when
death put his seal upon her brow. 1t is
so hard that all the years remaining we
must walk on without her, who in our
times of weakness and despairing was q
never-failing source Of strength, and
whose pride in our success made victory
doubly dear. No more to her can we go
for sympathy, no more at her feet cast the
| garlands we have won. No morel But
we do not sorrow without hope, without
religious consolation. We know she still
lives; in the memory of those who knew
and loved her; in the lives she blessed
and benefited; in the good she said and
did-ah, better than all, she still lives, in
the house of many mansions, where we
shall meet her by and by. Can we say
with Whittier?
"And yet dear heart rememb ering thee.
| Am not richer than of old?
| Safe in thy immortality,
| What change can reach the wealth hold |!
| What chance can mar the pearl and gold
Thy love hath left in trust with me?
|
~ cannot feel that thou art far.
| Since near, at need, the angels arel
/ II NJ 1,
Shall not see thee waiting stand,
| And white against the evening star
The welcome of thy reckoning hand?'
I have taken much space to say these
words, so poorly said at last. I have
struggled many months to write them,
and only now succeed, and yet do not
succeed. could not clothe my thoughts
in words of fulsome praise, for that
would pain her living, and could not
please her now, and it has been so hard
to find the words that would say what
ought to be said, that would mold in fit
shape tribute to one to whom 1 owe so
much. Where I have said ought worthy
it is the theme inspired it; where fail it
is in weakness. She was my mother.
DeddWood, OAK.
]